shit and piss, gunky buttock filled with, harry potter and the

Once upon a time, renowned audio tit Cassetteboy chopped up Stephen Fry’s reading of the Harry Potter books and transformed them into something beautiful. His first story was Harry Potter and the Black Leather Cunt, which was to be followed by Harry Potter and the Underage Blow-Job.

Several years passed, until Log decided to copy this idea, with two fundamental differences. First, he would not have a voice as silky and mellifluous as the other fat old gay, Fry. Secondly, he would just read out lots of swear words he had written, with no audio craftmanship or any real effort. Everyone agreed that this was much better, and that Cassetteboy had wasted his and everyone else’s time.

Everyone, that is, except Joe Skrebels, who took Log’s script, went to the Potter audiobooks, and did it properly.

What a prick.

Learn more! Episode 208

regular features in 1925

The following is a transcript from the first episode of Regular Features, aired in 1925

ROBOT FROM THE FUTURE
Hello, and welcome to Episode 1 of Regular Features, coming live from the 1920s!

JOAN CRAWFORD
I’m Joan Crawford, and I’ve got something dead between my tits. Can the Regular Features team figure out what animal crawled into my tits and died, before I smash this loom with my big Hollywood hammer? We’re about to find out!

CAVEMAN
I’m a caveman who has just been thawed out of a block of ice, and you can expect some unapologetic masculinity from me! For example, I hear the 1919 Sex Disqualification Act allows women to become vets. As a caveman, I don’t even know what a vet is, so I’m not really in a position to make a joke about it. But you can imagine my bewilderment at this strange development!

JOAN CRAWFORD
Hi, Caveman! How are you enjoyin…

CAVEMAN
What is wrong with women these days? So rude. If I see a girl on the street with a nice smile, I’m like “hey. Hey. HEY. TAKE YOUR EARPHONES OUT FOR FUCK’S SAKE. That’s better. So, hey, what are you listening to? Oh, contemporary pop music? That is for stupid people. I bet you fancy big muscular men who will treat you badly. You will never like me, because  I’m a nice guy. You hate that I’m so loving and kind, you fucking sack of dog shit. I hope you die of your own vagina.” Thank you very much, I’m a Caveman and today I’m noticing “things about women”.

ROBOT FROM THE FUTURE
I’m a robot sent from the future to prevent Margaret Thatcher from happening. I don’t know it yet, but my presence here today is actually going to accidentally set in course the events leading to the rise… OF MARGARET THATCHER

ALFRED ROBERTS
I’m Alfred Roberts, an English grocer, local preacher, politician – and podcaster! I serve as an alderman of Grantham and Mayor of Grantham. I’ve just got my wife, Beatrice pregnant from all the kissing we do. That is the first time I’ve heard the name Margaret Thatcher, and I like the name so much – I’m going to call our baby it!

ROBOT FROM THE FUTURE
Oh, no. I’m doing precisely the opposite of what my mission is!

JOAN CRAWFORD
Guys, there’s something going on between my tits. I’m not sure this thing is dead

CAVEMAN
Alfred, can I just ask – how did you get a woman to let you in her fanny? I bet it’s because  you are an idiot, and you said something stupid and she was like “OK here’s my fanny, but only because I’m a moron and I hate nice boys”. People are shit.

ALFRED ROBERTS
What a persuasive argument! People ARE shit. I’m going to shout that into my pregnant wife’s belly until the baby comes out, then keep on shouting people are shit at it until I’m sure it believes me, and it’s in a position to use that belief to make decisions that affect the entire country.

ROBOT FROM THE FUTURE
Jesus Christ.

ALFRED ROBERTS
In the 70s and 80s. I don’t want to be too on the nose about it, or gild the lily at all, but it’s Margaret Thatcher you see. I’m her dad.

CAVEMAN
You think that’s on the nose? I’m a sexist Caveman for Christ’s sake.

JOAN CRAWFORD
Guys, I think my Hollywood tits just brought this seagull back to life

[pause]

ROBOT FROM THE FUTURE
Joan Crawford, we were supposed to be guessing what the dead thing was between your tits. Way to ruin your own feature.

JOAN CRAWFORD
WELL IT HARDLY MATTERS NOW DOES IT. IT’S NOT DEAD ANY MORE, AND I’VE GOT MIRACLE HOLLYWOOD TITS

CAVEMAN
Speaking as a rational athiest caveman, there’s no such thing as miracle tits. The only thing about tits that would be miraculous is if a woman ever turned out to be civilised and intelligent enough to let me touch hers.

ROBOT FROM THE FUTURE
Well that’s all we’ve got time for this week. Don’t forget to rate and review us on 1920s iTunes!

Learn more! Episode 207

thatcher, margaret

Good afternoon. I am Margaret Thatcher. I first came to the public attention as a provider of stunt bras to the Carry On movies. You remember when Barbara Windsor’s bra flew off in Carry On Camping? That was one of my bras. Aerodynamic for flight, and padded cups for a soft landing. The right bra for the job. That was my motto.

babs-bra

For decades, that bra was the most famous bra in the world. He couldn’t go to a party without someone putting him on and catapulting him across the room. He loved it. These days he just lies across a laptop keyboard, watching an animated gif of Kenneth William’s shocked face, one cup damp with whiskey, the other cup half full of cigarette ash.

But enough about the early days. I’ve done other stuff, too. For example, umm, did you know that I was in Regular Features in the 70s? It was me and Terry Wogan. I’d sing a bit of a popular tune, and Terry would replace the lyrics with vulgar alternatives. I’ll never forget, one day I sang “put them together and what have you got? Bibbedy bobbedy boo” and quick as a flash, Terry sang “open your arsehole and what have you got? Knickers all spattered with poo”. Such a brilliant man. Such a talent. A brilliant man talent. So sadly missed. Tell you what! Let’s play it now! For old time’s sake!

I’ll think of one of the top of my head. Linger by the Cranberries. You got me wrapped around your finger… come on, Margaret…

FUCKING PIECE OF BALLS AND SHIT

No that wasn’t right. I know, I’ll do a song from the seventies, that’s more in keeping. That’s neat that’s that’s neat that’s neat I really like your Tiger Feet. Here we go…

I GOT BIG FARTS IN MY BUTTHOLE AND I WANNA SQUIRT OUT A FAT ONE TONIGHT

Fuck it, this isn’t working at all. Mind, this was Terry Wogan’s thing more than mine. What I used to do was cheep and chirp into the mic and say “is that a real bird or did I just make it up?” But when we started doing live shows, the audience was just all birds. We were as surprised as they were to find out I was a human being. It got really tense. Have you ever had 50 kittiwakes looking at you like you’re a racist arsehole? I was sweating out me arse, I can fucking tell you.

I’m getting sidetracked. I’m not here to chat shit – I’m here as a representative of the wider Regular Featureverse. I wasn’t the first member of Regular Features. To find that out, you have to go back much further in time. Before history began. Back to the 1920s…

Learn more! Episode 207

garcia, the travails of

The long-neglected Regular Features voicemail feature revealed a tale of horror, of mystery, of hard, crispy fruits. We have contacted the police.

Learn more! Episode 185

pokemon go, a beautiful story about

Discovered on reddit.com/r/Pokemon

Taking an evening walk through my suburban neighbourhood last week, I couldn’t help but marvel at the effect that Pokemon Go was having on our community’s youth. While not a player myself (my phone is much too small), I enjoyed the sight of once-disparate groups conversing and pointing in glee, brought together by a virtual reality that has such tangible effects on those who choose to believe.

Upon taking particular interest in a young street gang that had paused play to take turns sucking happily on lollipops with some nerds, I slipped off of the street kerb.

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health reports, presidential

untitled

“BABY,” screamed Trump, strapping on his space-age leg, “give me the good news”. Dr. Henrik Plaque looked unwaveringly at the presidential candidate in silence for three full seconds before, cowed by the unremitting, childlike moon-eyes that Trump used so well against Fox News anchors and pinko jellybones anarchist hatefucks alike, he cast his eyes down to the fool’s gold carpet and spoke. “Professor Trump,” he muttered, using the honorific his employer preferred in private, “you’ve lost another finger. The lupus is aggressive, and I don’t know how much longer we can keep giving you bionic parts before someone notices you won’t go within a square mile of a school science lab magnet.”

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